


Relative Placement Only Works in Iceskating

by daroos



Series: Pants Off [5]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, Moresomes, Multi, Polyamory, Russians are serious about the sauna, Threesomes, off road croquette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dust settles around the Winter Soldier, how does a family of five fit together? With a lot of work, a little misunderstanding, and more honesty than most are prepared for. This is a lot of feelings and fluff, some porn, some meet the family and some domestic salve for the wounded relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relative Placement Only Works in Iceskating

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place directly after "History is Underrated" and if you haven't I suggest reading that first. The porn in this just turned out to be mostly het.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Twiller, who greased this up and sent it through the review process with all haste when I put out the call. Many thanks for the comma wrangling and grammar help.

James surprised Darcy alone in Clint and Natasha's apartment. She was raiding their fridge for leftovers as hers had come up empty, and Kate, Bruce, and Thor appeared to have gotten into an eating contest the night before leaving the communal fridge more barren than usual.

"Oh," she heard, surprised and... embarrassed. She had her head stuck in the fridge, butt wiggling to the Red Hot Chili Peppers on her ipod. She straightened too quickly in surprise and banged her head on the freezer door handle. She stumbled, knocking the fridge door so it swung to the edge of its range of motion and back and whacked her in the hip.

She didn't cry but she did sit down hard, legs splayed, with the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes from the blow to the head.

"Oh, geeze, I'm sorry," James said, moving to put his hand under her elbow and help her up. It was his cold metal hand, and she felt like sitting on the kitchen floor thank you very much, so she twisted out of his grip and scooted away on her butt. "Well wouldja let me help you up at least?" he asked plaintively.

Darcy made a noise between a grunt and a whine, which though inarticulate, perfectly expressed her desire not to be helped.

"Well okay, suit yourself."

Darcy sat in the wan light and the cool airflow of the fridge. "Should you be in here? Alone, like?" Darcy asked as she scrubbed at the sore spot on her head.

"I didn't know you'd be in here," James pointed out.

She looked up at James in slacks and a t-shirt, and down at herself in an old bra and not-quite-white-anymore panties and groaned.

"What?" he asked as though he thought it was all his fault.

"Nothing. I'm just having a crappy day and this is more crap is all."

"You wanna tell me about it?" James asked.

"Are you going to go all murder machine on me?"

He frowned in faux thoughtfulness. "I think I'm good." He offered her his flesh and blood hand to help her to her feet.

She took it and allowed him to bear the brunt of her weight. His hand was nice -- sturdy, solid muscle and remarkably few callouses. He was warmer than she had suspected as well.

"So what terrible things had the gall to ruin your day?" he asked with a crooked smile.

"My truck left me, my woman won't start, and my dog died."

"Huh?"

"Only actually the last one," Darcy said mulishly. "Not even really mine anymore, but my mom was taking care of her."

"Geeze."

"And the bottom came off my slipper and I did something to the SHIELD security protocols so the mainframe ate my report and then I was out of food so I came to steal some from my boyfriend and the guy who's been eating up all my _other_ boyfriend's _and_ my girlfriend's time surprised me rummaging in the fridge for munchies in my ugly underwear."

"That does sound like a bad morning.” Darcy rubbed her butt and moved to the couch, pulling a throw over her legs. “I can go, if you want,” James offered, thumb pointed towards the door.

“No, you can stay. I was kinda hoping someone would be here, but they’re all out having a life and shit.”

“I’m sorry about your dog.”

“Me too.”

“Are you...” James frowned, “going home for the funeral? We never had a pet; I’m not sure how this works.”

Darcy chuckled through impending tears. “No. She had to be put down so they cremated her there. I just wish I coulda been there.”

“Death is... hard,” James finished lamely. By his expression it was clear he knew how inadequate his statement was.

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, curling tighter under her throw.  
\--  
The thing about New York wasn’t that it was cold, though it was cold. It was that it was either a seeping, wet sort of cold, or a take-your-breath-away ice in your lungs with every inhalation sort of cold. It wasn’t a good, dry, desert cold. It was something Darcy was unprepared for in her move. She invested in long underwear, and she used every stitch of knitwear at her disposal, and yet her socks never seemed warm and dry like she imagined they should be, and her boots always seemed to squelch with icy runoff from the street. Even in the climate-controlled air of Jane’s lab she never felt like she got warm. Her toes were always a little bit numb; her fingers maintained a slight stiffness. Clint was spending long days at SHIELD between his new focus on the Untouchables files that Coulson had dropped in his lap, and Steve and Natasha were understandably wrapped up in their not quite dead friend/lover/soulmate, leaving Darcy alone with her icecube toes and the cold feeling of fresh, high thread count sheets.

The job itself was... intense. Between training with SHIELD, wrangling scientists, and learning Asgardian for a position Coulson had promised would open up for her in a few months, she didn’t have much energy to waste on being miserable, feeling inadequate, lonely, or abandoned. They were all busy, but she was cool though; she had her own stuff to do. Darcy loved her work; really she did. It was just that she knew how utterly outclassed she was by her ‘coworkers’. And she hadn’t felt warm since moving to the Tower in October, coincidentally right about when James AKA Winter Soldier AKA Bucky Barnes of old got his brains sorted out and dropped himself into Darcy’s tidy little harem.

Steve was off in his apartment a lot, and Natasha was over there too now, and Darcy had her own set of rooms that weren’t quite an economy apartment and weren’t quite a dorm, but were some bastard child of Stark engineering and Japanese-styled housing efficiency. Due to continuing, intermittent, mental instability on James’ part, Natasha and Clint had made it very clear that it was a good idea to keep clear of Steve’s apartment, and the whole thing left her feeling left out and lonely.

“Darcy.”

“Yeraaagh!” Darcy cried, somewhere between a yelp of surprise and a war cry. She spun and attempted to execute a bitchslap on Natasha, which was seriously, what? Her self-defense training had trained her better - she should have at least tried a palm-strike. Natasha batted her hand away with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“You should be. A palm strike would have been more appropriate,” Natasha told her disapprovingly.

“Well, ah...”

“I’m going to the bath house.”

“You want me to watch James?” Darcy asked doubtfully.

Natasha shook her head in a decisive motion. “I want company.”

“So...” Darcy drawled.

“So you’re coming too.”

“Girl’s day out?” Darcy asked hopefully.

Natasha’s sweetest smile still held an ounce of wickedness and a dash of danger.

Pepper met them at the motor pool with Happy, Stark’s driver. She was well wrapped against the November chill but still stylish in something with quilting and faux fur accents. Pepper took the front while Natasha and Darcy took the rear, organizing their bags around their feet. It was the middle of the week, and the middle of the day, so the drive wasn’t the gridlock that Darcy had come to associate with Midtown and cars. Happy drove with the gleeful abandon of someone who would have done well in NASCAR or perhaps the Demolition Derby, cutting through traffic in swooping accelerations. Natasha and Pepper seemed utterly at ease while Darcy had a grip on the granny strap and her seatbelt: not the most relaxing beginning to spa day.

Happy ended the trip by throwing the car into reverse and zooming backwards down a one-way street, screeching to a halt in front of a little walk up over a business front. A battered sign hanging over the door proclaimed it a Russian and Turkish Bath House though it looked like nothing so much as the entrance to an unlicensed doctor’s office.

Up the stairs a dour-faced probably-Russian woman stood behind the counter littered with disclaimers and advertisements for their various treatments. She and Natasha reached some sort of agreement through a series of meaningful slash threatening looks. The woman pulled out little safety deposit boxes and waved them at the three women. “Put your valuables in,” Natasha instructed. Pepper had already fit in her handbag, her watch, and was unhooking her pearls from around her neck. 

Darcy pulled her wallet out and dropped it in. The woman shook the little box at her again, impatiently. Darcy fished out her phone and added that. “No diamonds?” the woman asked in accented english with a disbelieving tone. Darcy shook her head mutely. The woman shrugged and slammed the deposit boxes home in the wall and handed them all keys. “Number on key is number on locker. Member Only hours now; no trouble.” She eyed Natasha critically. Natasha said something to her in probably-Russian which elicited a rueful chuckle. “No starting trouble. Finishing trouble,” she shrugged expressively.

Pepper led the way to the little locker room, familiar with the layout. Darcy fumbled with the key-on-a-string trying to figure out which locker it matched. Natasha had one without a number, and a simple red hourglass on the front. She and Pepper began efficiently stripping, putting on bathing suits, and toeing on sandals. Pepper was the picture of elegance in what was probably a designer one-of-a-kind masterpiece. It was jade and Darcy was unsure how it stayed on her. Darcy felt frumpy and low-class by comparison because who wouldn’t next to those paragons of feminine perfection and beauty. “There’s only one rule in the bath house,” Pepper warned her.

“No work talk,” Natasha completed the thought and locked her locker with a deft twist of her wrist. By comparison Natasha was wearing black shorts that looked as though they’d seen the glory days of the USSR and nothing on top.

“Are you—” Darcy began. Natasha raised an eyebrow, effectively silencing her. “Wow, bold.”

Pepper smirked. “I love members only hours,” she commented to no one in particular. Natasha’s breasts swung freely, as relaxed and unruffled as their owner. Darcy wished for the millionth time that she had Natasha’s confidence.

Darcy shivered in her swim suit and sandals, the ever-present chill seeping through her core. Natasha gestured towards an ominous staircase leading into the bowels of the building. It was white tiled -- the better to clean the blood of your slaughtered enemies off of after you’d done the deed. Darcy shuddered even though she couldn’t feel the seeping cold of the winter and the glazed white clay through her sandals. Soft currents of air swirled around her as she hesitantly walked down. Glancing back she saw that Natasha descended like a conquering goddess, a towel draped about her shoulders. Pepper took the steps carefully, unused to flat shoes and the slippery surface.

“Take her,” Natasha commanded Pepper offhandedly. “You know where I’ll be.” She stalked by two other doors labeled “Steam” and “Turkish” to an intimidating steel and wood monster of a door simply labeled “Russian”.

The air in the downstairs was moist and not cold but neither did that mean warm. “She’s more daring than I am,” Pepper admitted ruefully. She grabbed Darcy’s wrist and physically led her down the hall to a swedish dry sauna. “I start slow in here usually.” The room was hot but not more than New Mexico usual sort of hot. Pepper laid down on one of the teak benches, unselfconscious under the scrutiny of an old eastern European couple, and Darcy followed suit.

“Do you guys do this a lot?” Darcy asked after the first prickle of sweat began forming on her brow. She was a desert creature but that didn’t mean she didn’t sweat like a normal person.

Pepper hummed in agreement. “About once a month for me. Natasha is here a couple times a week when she’s in town. She says it keeps her limber.”

“So that’s where she goes. I thought it was ninja training or something. Why doesn’t she drag Clint along with her?” Darcy asked. _Why have I never heard about this ritual_ went unspoken but somehow Darcy knew Pepper could sense it.

Pepper laughed at her question, and it was as elegant and honest and lovely as everything else she did. “He came once but he said if he wanted to be beaten by Russians and suffer from heat prostration, he would volunteer for more missions in Afghanistan.”

“This doesn’t seem so bad,” Darcy replied with a sense of foreboding.

“This is introducing you in baby steps,” Pepper assured her.

Just when she was starting to feel like the icicle making up her innards was starting to melt, Pepper rose and headed for the door. “Plunge pool and then aromatherapy.”

“Plunge... that sounds dangerous.”

They passed an impassive row of elderly Russian and Turkish men sprawled on tiled benches waiting for the treatment rooms to a small swimming pool. Darcy felt the chill begin to seep through her skin once more. Pepper kicked off her sandals, and with a girlish shriek, jumped into a five foot deep pool. She splashed violently for a moment before leaping out. The spray off of Pepper’s skin was frigid. “Nuh uh -- not going in there. My ovaries might freeze and fall out.”

Pepper laughed, pink and flushed. She shook her hair out, spraying Darcy in the process, before leading her to the aromatherapy room. Aromatherapy seemed to be code for air so thick with steam it could arguably be considered a liquid. It did have a pleasant, earthy smell, but that was somewhat negated by how difficult it was to breathe and the fact that the thick steam made it impossible to see more than two feet in front of your nose. Darcy flopped in a moist, warm puddle and threw her arm over her nose, thinking that might make it easier to breathe. Pepper wilted back against the wall with a sigh, hair lank, bright strands in the soupy atmosphere.

“How are you doing with all the recent changes?” Pepper asked after a long, luxuriously warm moment.

“What, like James, and Cap, and Clint taking in runaways?” Darcy asked, trying to make it sound like none of those things were any big deal.

“Yeah,” Pepper agreed, sounding soft and vulnerable and worried in ways Natasha would never sound.

Darcy threw the arm that was over her nose to the side with a wet splat. “Well, you know.” She let out an unhappy sort of chuckle.

“That kind of upset can be really difficult on a relationship,” Pepper commented. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for something as complex as what you were balancing.”

Darcy was silent for a long time, breathing in steam laced with what she had decided was probably sandalwood. “I’m good in the middle of the crisis, you know? Taking care of people and making sure nobody passes out from low blood sugar or lack of sleep. But after the dust settles—”

“—it can be hard to know where you fit in,” Pepper finished.

“Yeah.”

Pepper hummed in understanding. “Tony solves that by never getting out of crisis mode. I’m not sure what we would look like if his life settled down and we had a calm year -- hell, a calm six months -- for once. I’m not sure either of us would know what to do.”

“I just... I just kinda feel like Woodie, after Buzz got unwrapped that first time.” The muffling quality of the fog made the admission easier to make.

“Oh, honey.” Pepper shifted, probably sitting up. Her hand alighted on Darcy’s calve. “So is Steve Andy in this metaphor?” Pepper asked, rubbing gently.

“Steve or Natasha or Clint’s side projects -- not that I’m not glad he has something to do that involves a little less jumping off buildings to certain death and a little more guidance counselor. I don’t even know.” Darcy sighed loudly, sitting up and folding herself over her knees. At least her innards were melting into something like comfort. Her muscles were unknotting from what felt like months of cold tension.

“Well, Andy realized how much he loved all his toys in the end, and his toys realized they could get along pretty well too, if I remember.”

“Yeah, but maybe I’m really just like, Bo Peep or slinky dog.”

“Darcy!” Pepper’s remonstration was sharp. “I see how they look at you and I don’t want to hear any more of that self indulgent dreck, is that clear young lady?”

“Yes ma’am,” Darcy replied automatically. “I thought you said no work talk.”

“This isn’t work talk. This is relationship talk.”

Out of the aromatherapy room, Darcy felt like maybe she’d be able to stand the dunking in cold water thing. Pepper’s glow of approval was enough to convince her and they grasped hands as they both splashed and shrieked for a brief moment before wading back into the moist, warm air. The line of elderly turkish and russian men hadn’t appeared to change in any way. Groaning and men’s voices speaking foreign languages were coming from the poorly sectioned off treatment areas.

“Turkish next,” Pepper said, nodding towards a room only slightly less foggy than the last. “And that’s where I leave off. Natasha will have to take you for the rest of the initiation.” The Turkish room was yet another variant on hot and wet, a cold shower drenching them as they walked in. The tiles were painted blue and white with beautiful patterns and the air was the hottest yet. Pepper was glowing and slippery with sweat in moments, and Darcy felt similarly wrung out. They sweated, sometimes going to get sprinkled with cool water from the shower, for a long twenty minutes.

“You know James is pretty cute,” Pepper said out of nowhere.

“Yeah, for a cyborg,” Darcy replied before she could rein in her tongue. She blushed. “Not that that’s a bad thing or anything.”

Pepper lolled her head back against the warm tile wall. “No, I understand. It took me a while with Tony’s... The first time I saw his arc reactor after we got him back, he had me stick my hand in the housing and pull out some wires. It was—” Pepper shuddered delicately. “It took some getting used to. I finally decided I couldn’t love only part of him, and I couldn’t not love something that kept him alive.”

“Even if it makes him a glowy cyborg?” Darcy asked.

Pepper smiled fondly. “Yeah.”

Darcy flexed her toes, feeling a delicious, languid heat coursing through her muscles. She felt comfortably hot, glowing like a firebrand, and an open sort of relaxed, for all that she still had a good bit of emotional turmoil going on.

The door creaked open and Natasha stood in the doorway. “It’s time.”

Pepper shot Darcy a look that might have meant _good luck_ and might have meant, _I hope you survive the next hour_ , and nodded her head in encouragement. Darcy was too used to taking orders from Natasha to put up even a token resistance. She stood and followed the assassin.

The door simply labeled “Russian” loomed larger than seemed possible. A tiny glass window, thoroughly fogged over, was the only break in the metal and wood monstrosity. Natasha ushered Darcy in front of her, and she had to struggle briefly with the uncommonly heavy door. She took one step, then two into the dark, foggy room before the heat hit her. It was heat unlike she had ever experienced before; like a physical beast attacking her and insinuating itself into her chest. It pulled at her skin and burned through her lungs, scorching her nose and stinging her eyes. Natasha pushed past her, picked up a bucket and dunked it in a cistern. She poured the bucket of water over her head and then refilled it, moving to a bench. Darcy followed her lead, feeling the brief, blessed relief of icy water sheeting over her burning skin.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Darcy said in an undertone. Natasha responded only by dunking a towel into her bucket and draping it over Darcy’s head. It took a moment, but the cool moisture on the towel created a microclimate around her head that made it possible to breathe and think without pain. After her second or third breath that only ached in her lungs, Darcy felt she had the clarity of mind to examine the room.

The walls were covered in thick grey slabs of stone which radiated heat like they had been baking in the desert sun for hours. Men and woman sat huddled against the heat, some breathing deeply as though they might tame the temperature by facing it head on, others with towels like Darcy. Several spigots poured constant streams of cold water down the stone steps on which rested wooden planks rested so that sauna-goers could sit without burning the backs of their thighs. Natasha was camped out next to a spigot with a bucket that she would dunk over her head as soon as it filled, her skin splotchy red from the heat, her nipples peaked with the cold.

Darcy felt her skin flush as her body tried to decide whether the temperature was a problem which sweating might solve, or if she was under assault from something which she might be able to fight off to gain relief. “Is this something you do for fun?” Darcy asked in a gaspy, breathy voice.

“Sometimes it’s the only way I feel warm,” Natasha replied, emptying another bucket of icy water over her head. She took the towel from Darcy briefly to re-wet it with cool water. “Places like this...” she drew a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. Darcy’s lungs burned in sympathy. “Places where you relaxed and socialized were the opposite of everything I was conditioned to understand. It’s ironic that I feel so far from there, in here.”

“I kinda feel like I’m dying,” Darcy said.

Natasha sloshed cold water down the plank they were both seated on so it rushed against her thighs. “We have something, I think. Aside from the boys; there’s something between us that is important.”

Darcy allowed the towel to slide a bit more down her face obscuring her expression further.

“I haven’t treated that something very well lately. I’m beginning to think none of us have with all of...” Natasha waved a hand indicating all the insanity that had happened in the last several months. “Finding something from my old life, even something broken and tarnished and different from what I remember...” She sighed. “He was the one thing I would have brought with me, if I could have brought something out. If I had known how to care about someone like that.”

“You don’t have to explain. He’s like... He’s the one.”

Natasha let out a frustrated breath. “When your mouth opens your ears stop working.” Natasha extended her hand. Darcy laid her palm against the other woman’s and laced their fingers together. It took the sting out of Natasha’s words, somewhat. She brought Darcy’s knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “Listen closely, because I will not be speaking of this outside these walls.” Natasha glanced around the thick slate slabs. Darcy got the feeling that this was what she had been brought here to hear. “Love isn’t a limited resource that you can use up. Love doesn’t close you off from others; it teaches you how to open yourself and it finds places in you that you didn’t know you’d lost or forgotten or boarded up. I _love_ James.” She said it like the words hurt as they came out of her mouth. _Love is for children_ echoed in Darcy’s ears. “But _katja_ , I love you too. You’re mine and that is not going to change.” She brought Darcy’s hand to her lips again, and Darcy could tell it was a stalling tactic. “Love isn’t a limited resource, but time is. I’ve been unfair recently. I know you understand why, but that doesn’t mean it can’t have hurt.”

They sat in the overwhelming heat for long, silent minutes. The only sounds were of splashing buckets full of water and murmuring in Russian from the other visitors’ conversations.

“You and James and Steve just have this.... super-secret, awesome, friends-from-forever-ago, long lost loves thing going on and it can leave a girl feeling a little not-so-special. And with James being kinda nutballs for most of the time I’ve known him, and, you know, me not supposed to be alone with him it’s just...”

“What would help?”

“It’s—” Darcy fiddled with a hem on her bathing suit. “It’s just like you guys have a secret club and I want in but I don’t want to be that kid that is in the secret clubhouse one day when everyone else arrives and nobody knows how she got there. And then nobody quite has the heart to kick her out so she sticks around but she’s never really part of things because... yeah.”

“I think you and James would get along.” Natasha smiled wryly. “I think you and James and Clint would get along like a house on fire. Me not wanting the house to be on fire may be part of why I haven’t made the effort I should.”

“Oh. So is he like, safe? To be around, I mean? Because last anybody said anything to me it was that I should go get an asskicking adult if he snuck up on me.”

“I’d say he’s as safe as any of us ever are,” Natasha said, rolling her head to the side so she could gaze sidelong at Darcy. “Would you like to... spend some time with him?” Darcy read that as, _would you like me to set you up with my KGB boyfriend_.

“I just— I just want to feel like I’m a part of things. I want to _be_ a part of things.”

“Okay,” Natasha replied.

“Are we done?” Darcy asked. She was beginning to feel a new sort of dizzy from the heat and she suspected that it was not a good sort of dizzy.

She wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming feeling of finally being warm, or the effervescence of hope, but Darcy felt like crying and laughing as she lay partially prone in the line of Russian and Turkish retirees outside the Russian room’s heavy doors. It seemed as though her relationships were stronger than she had thought.  
\--  
The way Clint operated with people, he tended to classify them as _his_ and _not his_. If you were his, there was no length he wouldn’t go to for you. There was no way in which he wouldn’t accept you. There was nothing he would feel uncomfortable doing in your presence. At the point that Clint decided a person was his, that person shifted from being part of a wider world, largely to be feared and mistrusted, to simply a part of himself.

Though he had tried, time and again, to revoke that ownership of people he had made part of himself, it was never something he found to be within his power to do. Natasha was his. Steve had become his. James was going to be his; it was a fact he was moving towards accepting.

He and James undoubtedly got on. Clint had the uncomfortable feeling that he and James got on like brothers were maybe supposed to, without the almost starving or getting killed, the recriminations, and the abusive conditions. Clint was fucked up, and no joke, James was fucked up, but they were fucked up in complementary ways that just _worked_. 

Clint had a rare, serious talk with himself over whether what he felt was romantic, familial, antagonistic, or jealous, and he was left with mostly confusion. If there was another sniper to have backing up his team, James was the one he wanted. If there was someone that was going to fill the gap that he would eventually leave in the team, he felt less than no recriminations towards it being Steve’s long lost friend.

The truth was, Clint had never thought about getting older -- about what might happen in ten or twenty years -- because he simply assumed he would be dead before then. Coulson’s expression of sadness when Clint kicked off his night of drinking on his thirtieth with “I never really thought I would see the day a Barton made it past the big three-oh,” was sort of a turning point, and everything that had followed was slow and unpredictable, but inevitable, like sand shifting down a slope. Coulson’s ‘death’ had sealed off a part of Clint he’d never known wasn’t in every person. It had sealed off that voice that questioned whether he deserved to be alive, and how soon he would screw that life up enough to end in his own death. 

He wanted to live. He wanted to live with these people -- _for_ these people -- and he wanted to do something more than just survive and make crack shots. Kate was part of that. The other kids he’d picked up, dusted off, and set back on their feet were other parts. He could be strong for them in a way that they needed, and James could fill in the places that guilt and fear had never let Clint vacate. Before.  
\--  
Darcy was certain that it was some sort of setup from Natasha. Steve wasn’t so devious when it came to personal matters and James just kind of showing up around lunch time on the day she usually worked from the apartment was too much of a coincidence. That Clint had gone out early in the morning on something with his runaways, and Natasha, her usual lunch partner, was nowhere to be found, was downright suspicious.

James seemed as abashed by the whole situation as she felt. “Hey there,” he greeted at the door. He had a plate with two big sandwiches on it in his hands.

“Is one of those for me?” Darcy asked, stepping back from the door.

“If you want it,” James said.

“It’s not a poisoned spy sandwich?”

A pained look flashed across James’ face, and he went momentarily blank. “Would you lay off that kinda thing?” he asked, low and quiet.

The atmosphere between them was abruptly heavy and solemn. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. That was like... I’m an ass.” She took the plate from him and brought it to the table. He shucked his shoes and shirt in deference to the apartment’s custom.

“No,” he protested. “It’s just I like to imagine that a woman I’m trying to cozy up to isn’t constantly thinking about how I’m gonna kill her. ‘Cause that ain’t me anymore. That was never really me,” he added in an undertone.

Darcy produced some fruit and some chips from the kitchen, and they sat down to eat in rather a sombre mood. It didn’t last long. It turned out when Darcy wasn’t constantly thinking up black-humored murder jokes about James, it gave them both room to be the rather goofy, smarmy, flirty people that existed under the anxiety and brainwashing. James was fascinated by her description of living out in the desert, and she was delighted by some of his stories of the Commandos in their off time. It was with a lighthearted air that they cleared the dishes.

Darcy hummed along to a tune in her head, rinsing the plates out of habit before putting them in the dishwasher. She felt the warmth of another body in close proximity to her own before she felt James’ palm on the middle of her back, right over her bra strap. “You’re a real knockout, you know that?” he asked, voice low and oddly vulnerable, like Darcy undid something in him.

She stilled and went quiet. “I am pretty great,” she admitted. His chuckle was charming and sincere. She turned and he dropped his hand. He was very close and very shirtless. Darcy was momentarily overwhelmed by the expanse of skin and muscle.

She laughed nervously, casting her eyes away from James’ bare chest.

“What?” James asked, sounding self conscious. “Is it—”

She cut him off before he could go through a litany of his body parts or personality flaws which might offend her. “I’ve just never done this before,” she said in a rush. “Not the...” she trailed off indicating the sex with a hand gesture, “But with a—”

“Gimp?” James suggested.

Darcy frowned sharply. “No. I was gonna say a cyborg or... well, I guess I have done this with an ex soviet assassin already, _and_ a World War II vet, so that doesn’t really count.”

That surprised a bark of a laugh out of James. “Well I haven’t really done this before either.” He moved slowly towards her, all soft allure with none of the intrinsic threat she had read earlier.

“I thought you had—” Darcy began, now confused.

“I’ve never gotten the chance to be with a dame like you,” he said softly, resting his palm on the ball of her shoulder for a moment before running his fingers across her shoulder and up her neck to cup her cheek. He wet his lips and thus drew her attention to his tongue. She swallowed.

“I’m always up for trying something new,” she breathed. James closed the air between their bodies. “Just... be gentle,” she added at the last moment.

“Always am,” he murmured into her mouth, bending to kiss her. The first touch of their lips was electric; tantalizingly confident with a hint of shyness she usually associated with Steve. She teased gently at his lower lip and licked inside his mouth with a pleased whine. “I take it that ‘gentle’ doesn’t mean ‘slow’ in your book,” he said with a lopsided smirk. She ran her hands over the planes of his abdomen, brushing over his nipples and framing his collarbones with her fingers. She glanced at his bionic arm and tried to refocus on his chest. “You can touch it if you want.”

“Usually if a guy says that he is telling about a very different part of his anatomy.”

“Yeah, well, I already know you’re not afraid of one of _those_. So long as Nat hasn’t been pulling my chain.”

“No,” she giggled. “I’m a pretty big fan of those.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled his agreement deep within his chest. Darcy swept her hands from his collarbones to the top of his shoulder where flesh and metal joined. She teased her fingers down the confluence, feeling the knotted scar tissue and the smooth, unyielding metal.

“Can you feel this?” she asked curiously.

“More on the metal than the scar, actually. I got a lot of nerve damage in there, I think.”

“I-interesting,” she drawled. He held very still under her fingers as she traced over the bicep and tricep, around the point of his elbow and down the corded strength of his forearm. He shivered. “Bad?” she asked.

He shook his head. “If I could get goose pimples I’d have those is all.”

“Goose pimples?” She slid her fingers around his wrist, making a loose cuff around it before moving up the inside of his elbow.

He nodded. “Nobody wants to—” he ducked his head. “It’s a part of me but most people treat it like it’s not.”

Darcy laced their fingers together and squeezed. He returned the gesture with a fond smile. “You could break my hand just like this without really trying.”

His smile dropped, but he answered honestly. “Yeah.” There was a heavy silence between them. “I would never—”

“Natasha could too. And Clint, probably. It would break Steve’s heart but he could too.”

“They care about you—”

“James, I know. I just want you to know; I’m not coming into this like some naive little kid. I know what all of you can do and to a point, what you have done. I’m not coming into this blind. Of all the things we all should worry about, this isn’t it, is what I’m saying.” She pulled him flush against her by his metal hand and looked up at him. “Okay?”

“Steve said you were smart,” he told her with an eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?”

“I think he undersold you,” James added.  
\--  
A rapid rhythm knocked on the door was the proper ‘friendly’ signal. Clint elbowed his way in, a massive pillow still in its new plastic wrapping and a twelve pack of toilet paper encumbering him. He stopped, surprised, at the cosy image that Darcy and James provided. Darcy’s head rested in James’ lap, her hair fanned out against his thighs. Her legs draped over the arm of the couch, painted toes squirming in pleasure. James’ metal fingers scratched lightly into her scalp.

“This is... domestic,” Clint said.

“Jimmy was just telling me about being a badass in the war.”

“I was just tellin’ this mouthy broad that it’s James.”

Clint shucked his shoes and moved to the bathroom to put away the toilet paper. “Why not Bucky?” Darcy asked. “That’s like, kinda sweet.”

Clint froze halfway out of the bathroom. He could see the clench of muscle in James’ upper back at the question. “That hasn’t been me for a long time,” James said finally. “I wish a lot that I could go back and just stay him -- keep all that red off my ledger -- but then I wouldn’t be here now. It’s all trades I guess.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here. You make Steve and Tash real happy. And I like you. I mean, I don’t know you that well but I’ve got a feeling. We’re going to make such trouble together,” she added with a smirk.

James lolled his head back so he could get a glimpse of Clint. Clint raised his eyebrows and wrestled his pants off. “You don’t have a problem with your girl makin’ trouble with another guy?”

“Tash banned me from joining forces for trouble after the thing with the eggs. I have to set a good example for the Untouchables. I am a strict trouble soloist.” Clint held up his hands as though wanting to make it clear that he wasn’t planning on engaging with trouble with either of them.

“I think he was trying to ask how this whole fuckbucket of a relationship worked but he was kinda shy about it,” Darcy stage whispered. James actually blushed an impressive red.

“About that.” Clint pointed a finger lackadaisically at James and walked around the couch. He rolled over the other arm of the couch, settling his head next to Darcy in James’ lap. Clint turned his head enough to kiss Darcy’s ear.

“We should probably talk about that,” Darcy agreed after a pause. “Like, out loud.”

“Do you like guys?” Clint asked, seemingly out of the blue.

James stammered something along the lines of, “Well, given what I’ve been doing with Steve I’d better like them,” before Darcy took pity on him.

“What Clint is asking is do dicks turn you on?”

James blushed down to his chest, the scars over his left shoulder standing out in white relief. “Uh....”

Clint rolled around a bit in James’ lap, adjusting his hips on the couch. “Because I’m not generally a huge fan of dicks not my own, but Steve has made a compelling argument for sharing and I can’t say that _I_ don’t enjoy having them around. I just—”

“You don’t really like giving oral to men,” Darcy pointed out as though the topic of conversation was what sort of vegetables each person enjoyed. “That’s just personal preference, though. Personally, I—”

“Love sucking a guy’s brain out through his dick.” Clint grinned.

“Well yes,” Darcy agreed. James’ lap shifted under Darcy’s head, his thigh muscles tensing in pre-arousal. Darcy looked up at James, eyes bright and curious, “So what about you?”

“Um... I, um... thought we were talking about you guys,” he replied. Darcy and Clint rolled their eyes in unison. “What?”

“This is how we do it,” Darcy said, by her expression clearly wondering if he was in on the joke yet.

“Talking about blowjobs?” James asked.

“Talking about everything,” Darcy clarified.

“Sometimes until we’re both sick of hearing about it,” Clint added. “We check in with each other, ask what the other person wants and needs. The works. And look,” Clint continued, rolling over and propping himself on a forearm so he could look at James right side up, “I know I have a shitty job with shitty hours, so the idea of someone else being there if I don’t come back? Or someone being there with her while I’m gone? That’s not a bad thing in my book. I wouldn’t want like, Tash to marry her if I died to preserve her honor or some antiquated horseshit, but knowing she’s got people that will take care of her? That’s worth a bit of work on both our parts.”

“Isn’t he perfect?” Darcy stage-whispered to James. Clint got a sappy grin on his face and leaned in to nuzzle her neck.

“So what do you need a lug like me in the mix for?” James asked.

“You don’t _need_ to be with anybody,” Darcy said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But I like you.” She reached up and tweaked his nose between her knuckles. “And you’re already in the mix -- can’t put that Bucky Barnes genie back in the bottle.”

“Wouldn’t want to, either, the way Nat and— well..” Clint added. “I was glad to help getting you back some place you belonged.”

“And now we’re interested in keeping you here.”

James tensed and made as though to pull away from them -- a feat made futile by the fact that they were firmly settled over his lap. “If that’s what it is, then... I musta—”

“All I meant was we like you in the mix thus far and would like to see that you feel comfortable, ya doofus.” Darcy punched his shoulder lightly. “It’s not like a pity fuck to guilt you into not, I dunno, running off into the hills and becoming a monk. Unless that is a roleplay thing, because I could be down for... defiling you.”

“In a bodice?” Clint asked, suddenly intent, eyebrows crinkled hopefully.

“You buy it, I will grace it with the girls,” Darcy promised, hands rising to cup her breasts. “I’ve heard there’s some _super_ kinky opportunities for mild autoerotic asphyxiation with the good ones.” Clint’s eyes flicked from Darcy’s flushed face to James and back. “Right, back on track,” Darcy agreed. “So I was wondering...” She bit her lip as though shy. “I was _wondering_ what your metal fingers might feel like.” James frowned and reached to comb his fingers through her hair as he had been doing when Clint interrupted.

“Like this?” he asked, skating his fingers down her cheek and letting the artificial cilia that covered the surface of his finger pads caress her skin.

“I was thinking a little more... intimately. Like my vulva-y area.” Clint rolled upright in remarkable synchronicity with Darcy, and made room for her to settle her hips over James’ lap. Her left hand trailed down Clint’s chest, her palm intent upon mapping the twitching shimmers of muscle under the skin of Clint’s torso. The back of her other hand traced down the metal of James’ left arm and came to rest lightly gripping his palm. “How about it? Think you’re up for satisfying my curiosity?” Darcy asked with a wicked smile, but a tremor in her voice betrayed the hint of nerves.

James shook his head, glanced at Clint, and grinned. “Whatever the lady wants.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She guided his hand to her panties. She felt his dick twitch in his own underwear as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, wriggling a bit to get his hand in position. At the first stroke down her labia, Darcy jumped with a little squawk. “Cold,” she explained. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well what did you expect?” Clint asked.

“I don’t kno— oh, oh, right there.” James palmed Darcy’s mound and crooked a finger within her to hit her g-spot. She muffled the rest of her enjoyment on his lips, groaning into his mouth and humming in pleasure.

“That satisfy your curiosity?” James asked his voice a husky growl.

“I dunno. I could use another finger or two, just for science.” James obediently added his middle finger, stroking and pressing into her. She thrust into his fingers and let a long shaky sigh out. “Oh that is good.” She suggested a rhythm and he was obliging, fucking her with the unyielding metal of his hand that somehow maintained a silky softness. James glanced at Clint to see that Darcy somehow maintained enough focus to be playing with Clint’s foreskin and balls, fingers tracing his inner thigh and following the veins up his shaft with a loving familiarity. Her free hand she put on his chest and pressed gently. He looked down at her. “That’s enough for science, I think.”

“You don’t want to...” James tried to think of a way to say ‘orgasm’ that was not either flowery or rude.

“I’d much rather come with something else inside me, if you boys don’t mind.”

“That, uh, could be arranged.” James looked almost frantically at Clint. He asked in a stage whisper, “How does this work?”

“Oh, baby, if he’s gotta tell you then Steve has been lying.”

“Just make the lady happy. Have some fun. I like to watch.”

“Yeah, James. Have some fun,” Darcy goaded. “What’s fun to you?”

“Well I did see this one thing in a blue picture once...”  
\--  
“Miss Lewis,” Coulson greeted Darcy.

“Darcy, please. I know you’re professional, like, but Mrs. Lewis is my mom.”

Coulson crinkled a bemused smile at her, and she realized in that moment that Coulson was the one who Natasha imitated when she executed that same, fond expression. “Darcy,” he amended.

“So, bossman, what’s up?” she asked, punching him lightly in the not-recently-stabbed-through shoulder.

“I wanted to check in with you, actually,” he replied, mild as ever.

“I know I haven’t got to the testing center to demonstrate fluency for my continuing education—”

“Not about that,” he interrupted with a nervous sort of chuckle. “Though you should go into the language center. You get a pay increase if you can get accredited in Asgard, and that’s without any additional security screenings.”

Darcy pulled her second earbud out of her ear, untangled the cord from around her neck, and put her music player on the counter to clearly indicate she was listening.

“I, ah, notice that you’ve gotten... close... with the Avengers.”

Darcy bit her lip. “Yep,” she agreed. “We’re pretty tight. Bruce and Jane are like—”

“I was referring more to Natasha and Clint. And, ah... The Captain.” 

“Ooh, you mean sexy-close,” Darcy said, with a smirk when she got the hint of a discomforted expression out of Coulson. “Winter Soldier is kinda in that mix, too.”

“Exactly. I wanted to let you know, if it wasn’t clear, that— Well, I wanted to make sure that—”

“I hadn’t been conned into a polyamorous group-marriage as the sex-poppet for a bunch of high-powered super soldiers and super assassins?” Darcy and Coulson stared silently at one another for a long moment. “Oh my god you are so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“If anything happens... That is, if you ever— I know I’ve been close with Natasha and Clint in the past, but if they ever cause—”

Darcy put a hand on Coulson’s tailored suit shoulder, squeezing just a little bit and somehow halting the flow of words. “If anybody ever gives me trouble I can’t handle, you are the man I am coming to, okay?”

“That’s what I like to hear from my people,” Coulson confirmed, stopping Darcy. She froze, hand still gripping into the soft grey wool of his jacket. “You are my people, Darcy,” he added, his expression almost vulnerable.

“Yeah?” she asked in a suddenly smaller voice.

“Of course. This place would fall apart without you to keep the scientists on track.”

“Thanks, bossman.”

Coulson let a little mischief into his expression. “You’re welcome, Miss Lewis.”  
\--  
“JARVIS said there were cookies,” Steve said, poking his head into Natasha and Clint’s apartment. James was close behind, elbowing him inside, obviously eager for baked goods.

“That was a lie,” Darcy said and waved a dismissive hand, “I just needed to get you all here.”

“Cookies?” Clint asked. He entered into the apartment with a hopeful expression.

Natasha rolled her eyes at the men over the rim of her teacup.

“Family meeting,” Darcy announced. Her fingers were tucked into the sleeves of her sweater -- the only indication of nerves on her part.

Steve, James, and Clint settled on the couches while Darcy strutted around, a bit awkward. Clint raised his hand. “Family motion?”

“What?”

“Family meetings should include cookies in the future.”

“Seconded!” James agreed.

“Okay, this is not about the presence or absence of cookies,” Darcy said in an attempt to get them back on track.

“Well you can’t promise us cookies and then renege on the deal,” Steve replied in his most sensible voice.

“I’ll make you some damned cookies after!” Darcy practically shouted. A mischievous look passed between Steve and James, and though she was frustrated, Darcy felt a flutter of fondness. “I’m trying to invite you home to meet my parents!” she announced, voice carrying over James and Clint’s debate over chocolate chip or snickerdoodles.

Natasha put down her teacup. The silence was otherwise thick.

“All of us?” Steve asked at last, eyebrows raised in incredulity. Darcy nodded haltingly.

“How’s _that_ gonna work?” James asked with some derision.

Natasha shot a quelling look at James. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m the only one of us who has any real family to go home to, and I was gonna go for Christmas and I thought maybe you all might like to come too.” She trailed off almost shyly, a marked contrast to how she had began their family meeting. “I mean, if you don’t want to that’s fine and no expectations, I was only—”

“I would be honored to join you,” Natasha broke in serenely.

Silence settled over them again. Clint shook himself, frowning as though he was coming out of a trance. “Yeah. If it won’t— yeah.”

Darcy deflated in relief, releasing a held breath. She sat next to Natasha on the arm of her armchair. She stretched her hand to the other woman for comfort while Steve and James stared at each other and then her.

“Are you sure?” James asked at length. “This group of us ain’t exactly normal. Unless you guys have been doing a lot of legwork to keep me in the dark,” he added.

“Look, my family is a bit crazy their own selves. I’m sure my mom will just be happy I’m finally not dating losers who are only with me for the tittyfucks.” Natasha frowned thunderously, as though she wished to get the names of previous loser boyfriends.

Steve blanched at the baldness of Darcy’s words. “If you’re sure it will be okay, then of course.”  
\--  
Darcy used the SHIELD travel agency to arrange flights for all of them, on short notice, for Christmas. She unabashedly abused her Stark Industries ins to have an SUV waiting curbside for their convenience in San Jose. James jostled with Clint and Steve getting into the vehicle like a kid. They had gone through special national security security lines so as to avoid questions about James’ _cyborg arm_ and the usual stresses of holiday travel were attenuated or melting away in the thin warmth of coastal California midday.

The drive down the coast was filled with a riotous roadtrip energy which Darcy hadn’t felt in a long time. Clint found top 40’s stations on the radio and sang along with them. James and Steve engaged in an escalating slugbug battle. Darcy stuck her hand out the window and let the air flow over it as they charged along the 101.

Darcy’s family lived in a not-town almost midway between Santa Cruz and Monterey. She directed Natasha off the freeway, then through a small town and onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Where is this place?” Clint asked, staring at the coast rushing by.

“Wherever it is, it’s friggin’ beautiful,” James said, quieted from his earlier boisterousness, eyes wide.

They turned off PCH and onto a few side roads into low hills, finally turning onto a mostly gravel drive that went off into a stand of eucalyptus. Darcy jiggled in her seat, allowing herself a brief bout of stomach-churning anxiety. Her parents had said it was fine, but coming home was never easy. It was especially not easy after trashing her dreams of taking Washington DC by storm in order to work for the man and show up with a motley assortment of ex carnies, retired Army, and how the hell was she even going to explain Natasha?

“Park anywhere,” Darcy instructed once they got to a large flat space dotted with vehicles. There was a Ford truck from the 30’s, a little Mazda coupe, a couple of mid-sized sedans, an electric car, and a golf cart already in the parking area.

Clint glanced suspiciously from the sprawling compound in front of them to the many cars. “Is this a commune? Are your parents crazy hippies?”

“No,” Darcy drawled. “They’re crazy polyamorous retirees.”

Natasha eyed the array of satellite dishes peppering the roof as she killed the engine.

“That would make sense,” Steve said.

Darcy led the way up the front walk made up of tiles and water-smoothed stones with a nervous skip in her step. Steve, James, and Clint followed with luggage in tow while Natasha remained towards the rear and slipped into the background. The front door opened before they reached it and spilled out a woman with her arms spread wide, roughly the size and shape of Darcy, wearing a flowing dress and something that looked like a heavily embroidered bathrobe.

“Ma,” Darcy said, squeezing her mother in a hug.

“Oh baby, welcome home.” Darcy’s mother’s eyes squeezed close for a moment with her arms, but were quick to scan behind her daughter, inquisitive and sharp.

She pulled back, turning Darcy so they were both looking at the men. “So, introduce me.”

“Ma, this is Clint.” Darcy reached out her hand to him and got a reassuring squeeze in return. “That’s Steve, and this is James.” Steve stood up a little straighter, as though he was on the parade grounds ready for inspection. James moved as though to tip a cap or salute, but stopped halfway through the motion, offering a wry smile. “I was given strict instructions to not let Uncle Herbie near James’ prosthetic.” That drew an alarmed look from James. “And hiding in back is Natasha. This is my mom.”

“Mrs. Lewis, it’s a pleasure,” Steve managed at the same time that James said, “Ma’am,” Natasha said, “Mrs. Lewis,” and Clint simply nodded.

“You kids must want to knock the dust off. Come on in.”  
\--  
“This is...” Steve trailed off, surveying the large room.

“Totally sweet,” Clint finished. James and Natasha both glanced into the corners of the room as though they thought attacks might be imminent.

“So is the bed...” James began.

Clint hopped two steps and launched himself at the gotta-be-larger-than-California-King sized bed. He landed with a thud and sank without the bounce he obviously expected. He rolled to his back and waved his hands at Natasha. “It’s magic-soft,” he purred. It was oddly gleeful and not as sexy as a purr normally was.

Natasha took Darcy’s hand and tugged her onto the bed leaving James and Steve staring at one another uncomfortably. “Should we really—” Steve asked before Darcy’s and James’ eyes met, some wicked mischief passing between them. James caught Steve off guard, flipping the other man over his shoulder in an arc that nearly brushed the ceiling, and bringing him down on the bed with a _whump_. The bed slats gave a moan of protest. Darcy, Clint, and Natasha rolled out of the way in the nick of time only to regroup, squirming over Steve to immobilize him. Darcy and Clint took the cuddling route, while Natasha took the half-nelson route. James crawled over the pile of his bed partners and starfished on top of them.

“This bed is even better than Stark’s.” Clint stated that with a reverent sort of disbelief.

“One of the guys here is like, an ex-NASA engineer. I’m sure there’s like a neutron core or some kind of super science liquid in it or something,” Darcy said.

“Where do you even _get_ a bed this big?” James marveled. He rolled off of everyone and did a few flopping turns on the bed. “The future, man.”

That started Darcy giggling, which got Clint chuckling, which pried the tiniest smirk out of Natasha.

“You kids settling in ok?”

The man who asked the question was older with a mostly grey hair and beard and a tanned, deeply lined face with an absent smile. James jumped off of the bed with superhuman speed, obviously looking guilty. Steve tried to do the same, but Natasha, Clint, and Darcy had him pretty effectively immobilized.

“Yeah, dad,” Darcy said from on top of Steve. Introductions went around again. The boys seemed surprised that Darcy’s dad was no more scandalized by the situation than her mother had been.

“Dinner is poolside in an hour or two. Don’t start anything you can’t finish before then.” Mr. Lewis strolled out.

“Did he just—” Clint said.

Darcy groaned and buried her face in Steve’s shoulder. “He totally just told us we only had time for a quickie.”

“You got quite a family,” James said almost to himself.

“Yeah. If you go exploring the house it’s at your own risk. People here don’t really bother with locks and some are downright exhibitionists.”

“How many people are there... here?” Natasha asked. She’d let up on the wrestling hold and sprawled beside Steve and Clint.

“Now? I’m not really sure. Usually around ten or twelve. Up to about eighteen to live in, but we’d be sleeping in the barn if they had that many. Let’s see... Uncle Herbie and Raphael. Nita, Aunt Rhonda, Nadja. Probably Otto is still here. Jeanie, Ida maybe... That’s probably it. Otto’s the ex-NASA guy.” Darcy rose, propping herself on her elbow and leveling a finger at James. “And I am not kidding about Herbie and your arm. He’s got sticky fingers and I swear you will not see where he pulls a screwdriver from but you look away one minute and the next he’s dismantling your glasses.”  
\--  
For as much as the whole commune compound screamed bohemian chic and greenie hippie, there was a standard American chlorine-laden gel coat-lined swimming pool to one side of the massive courtyard that the quadrangle of housing created. A stone fireplace and chimney dominated one end of the pool area, opening on a patio with a barbecue pit and a seemingly endless dining table.

Clint was showering. Darcy, Natasha, and James were snuggling and catching a quick nap. This left Steve to wander alone through the courtyard. The area not taken up by pool and poolside dining was a winding fairytale garden, equally ramshackle and curated. A small fish pond was in one area, and a cabana wrapped in wisteria formed another quiet spot. Lights and lamp posts were scattered throughout, giving the whole place an ethereal air in early evening’s purpling light. Living quarters made up two edges of the quadrangle, each room sided with sliding glass doors made private through thick blackout curtains. Through curtains that were not pulled, Steve saw a variety of living quarters, ranging from a single bed in a spartan room to an elaborate mirrored sex palace.

One quadrangle edge was several stories taller than the others, levels piled on as though someone had simply stacked a series of disparate architectural styles on top of one another, crowning the whole thing with some sort of weather apparatus. The edge nearest the fireplace looked like a kitchen and living area and was buzzing with activity. On the one hand, Steve was hungry. On the other hand, people. Mr. Lewis solved his conundrum by noticing him and waving him over. “Steve! Come on down. You want a drink?” Mr. Lewis raised his wine glass demonstratively.

“That sounds great,” Steve replied, trying for cheerful rather than startled or overwhelmed.

“Red or white?”

“Red?”

Mr. Lewis grinned. “That wasn’t a test. Come on in -- I’ll introduce you around. Is Darcy sacked out?”

“I think the travel got to her,” Steve admitted.

“Holidays,” Mr. Lewis commiserated, handing Steve a glass. “Well come on, then.” Mr. Lewis introduced him to a kaleidoscope of people, most around Darcy’s parents’ ages, and with a uniformly vivacious sparkle to their eyes. Raphael manned the grill and saluted with his tongs. Ida sat on the kitchen island’s counter, legs swinging and long hair fluttering in the breeze. Rhonda -- Aunt Rhonda, as Darcy had named her -- handed Steve a plate of cheese and olives and shooed him towards the dining table.

There were others -- a few younger individuals introduced as children of residents, and a couple in their forties who were visiting from the farm across the way, and Steve dutifully tried to remember everyone’s names and knew he would probably fail. Clint and Natasha strolled out as full dark began to fall. Her arm curled through Clint’s and they strutted down the winding pathway like it was a red carpet. She had changed to a dress with a train that billowed and tugged in the light breeze, and Clint was as cleaned up as he ever got -- hair feathery and soft from the shower and shirt still creased from ironing.

Steve raised his glass in greeting and received a downright nervous look from Clint in reply. Natasha was completely unflappable, serenely sure of herself and her right to exist in the strange new environment. Natasha settled on the edge of the fireplace, smoothing her dress over her legs so the valley between her thighs was a pleasing curve of silky fabric while Clint paced the perimeter. Ida settled down next to Natasha and introduced herself.

“You have amazing legs,” Ida said with a look of admiration. “I’ll bet you’re great at martial arts. Or ballet,” she added.

That earned Ida a flirty smirk from Natasha. “I am reasonably skilled in those areas,” she demurred. Ida was a physical therapist, it turned out: their conversation quickly devolved into a detailed discussion of ankle injuries.

Clint had stopped at the barbecue pit with Raphael, and was sniffing at a marinade at the grill master's urging. Two young girls ran by screaming in excitement. “Is Darce sleeping through dinner again?” Mrs. Lewis asked, leaning past Steve where he sat to pick up a cube of feta which she ate with some enjoyment.

“I think maybe James sprung a nap on her.” James was back to fighting weight but still prone to wearing himself out and dozing off at strange times.

“Is he sensitive about the prosthetic?” Mrs. Lewis asked. “I can tell people not to mention it if he is, only it’s a bunch of engineers that he’s in the middle of and I’m sure they all would want to know about it.”

“It’d probably be best to let him bring it up, if he feels comfortable,” Steve admitted. 

Mrs. Lewis nodded, patting Steve’s arm in an understanding gesture. Her expression changed when she touched his bicep. She squeezed and gave him an approving look. “Whatever they are feeding you boys in New York, I approve.” Steve managed not to blush. “I’ll go get her then -- you get some food in you.” She patted his arm again and stood.

Dinner seemed like it could have been riotous, but everyone was bathed in a holiday languor and the fairy lights strung around the patio made everything seem soft and intimate. More bottles of wine, along with plates and silverware, a few huge bowls of salad and pasta, and pitchers of water were brought out. Clint was smirking and confident by the time he helped Raphael bring over the grilled items, and Natasha had stripped off some of her starlet persona in favor of her unashamed badass self.

James and Darcy slipped in to sit next to Steve, both looking the sort of disgruntled that only followed from being woken from a truly good nap. James took a glass of wine with good grace, but Darcy stared sullenly at the spread for a good twenty minutes, obviously not quite awake and not substantively interested in changing that.

Through the multitude of conversations, Steve gathered that the majority of the permanent residents were retired engineers who had started their homestead as a sort of bizarre social experiment, setting out a charter, pooling their retirement money, and building their dream habitat.

“Everything is communally owned unless expressly stated upon purchase,” Rhona informed him. “We have an organic garden in back, a few acres of fruit trees, and the goats.”

“The goats,” Herbie groaned. “I rue the day I ever voted for goats.”

“Shut up, you love the goats,” someone, perhaps Jeanie retorted.

“I do not—”

“You love goat milk, you love goat cheese, you love eating goat, you love a hot and cold running supply of shammy cloths,” maybe-Jeanie began listing.

“Ok, so I like what we get _from_ the—”

“We’re having goat for Christmas dinner,” Mr. Lewis said, cutting across the conversation. “Darcy said none of you had any dietary restrictions aside from ‘eating more than any god intended’,” he added, obviously quoting.

Darcy blushed and ducked her head. “Daad,” she whined.   
\--  
Clint and Steve were wrangled into helping select and transport a proper tree the next morning, Christmas eve. Natasha joined Ida and some others in yoga. James was conscripted to help dig a massive pit in the edge of the garden for heretofore unknown purposes while Darcy was dragged into one of the offices to help with present wrapping.

“So,” her mother began, “tell me about each of them.”

“Ma, I really think that’s something you should ask them about.”

“Nonsense; I don’t want to make them feel scrutinized.”

“So you’re getting me to spill behind their backs?” Darcy scrunched her eyebrows dubiously at her mother.

“Exactly. Steve said he and James had been in the Army together. Natasha is a dancer? And Clint said something about the circus.”

Darcy didn’t like the tone of approval she heard in her mother’s voice. Sure, it was easier to have her mom’s approval than not, but she had the feeling that her mother approved simply because they were such an off-kilter, motley-sounding crew of miscreants. Her mother had always enjoyed having off-beat people around the house. Which explained her father.

“That’s... all not untrue,” Darcy hedged, applying a gratuitous quantity of tape to a corner of wrapping paper to get it to stick.

“And? Where did you meet them all? I want to hear all the stories.”

That... Darcy could actually do. Like, it involved a lot of creative retelling in some portions, like how James and Steve were old friends and James had gotten hurt and they’d gotten separated and both thought the other one was dead and then the kind of life-threatening PTSD brain-rebuilding that went on when James turned up. But ultimately saying she met Clint during her time finishing out her science credits in New Mexico and how he and Natasha were already fuckbuddy BFFs and she kinda slipped in the middle of them and that worked out... it was all true to what happened. It was just a little redacted. She took a breath to think about how Coulson would be proud of her prevaricating capabilities.

Darcy’s dad stuck his head into the study, hand over his eyes. “Not looking, not looking. Otto is back with the boys and the tree. He let Steve drive. He really has a knack with the old transmission.” Darcy smirked to herself. “We’re having a nog break. Did you tell her we know he’s Captain America yet?”

Darcy choked on her spit and began coughing. “ _WHAT_?” she asked through gasps.

“I was just getting to it, actually. She’s got some really creative retellings going on and I was going to let her finish before laying it on,” Darcy’s mother replied with a reproachful look.

“Oh, whups.” Mr. Lewis ducked out of the study.

“You _knew_?” 

“Honey, we do have eyes and Tivo. Also a history professor on site who specialized in WWII propaganda. It wasn’t that much of a stretch. Natasha is that Black Widow I’m guessing? And Ida said she’d lay money on Clint being that archer; distinctive musculature.”

“Ma, what the hell.”

“Well we didn’t really know how James fit into it and we didn’t want to out anybody.” Darcy’s mom made the same ‘whups, sorry’ expression that Darcy herself made, and it was absolutely infuriating. “Those were some really fascinating stories you were coming up with though,” she said, patting Darcy’s forearm.

“Ma, I didn’t ‘come up with’ them. They were legit how we met. Just... redacted.” She winced. “Look, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but please please _please_ do not make a big deal about this. I’m already the normal girl without super powers in the middle of them -- I don’t want to be the girl whose parents are crazy stalkers and outed them to the entire commune.” Darcy thought about what she’d said and groaned, leaning forward to bury her face in tissue paper sheets.

Her mother laid her hand on Darcy’s upper back, rubbing gently. “Honey, I see how they look at you and each other. That’s not something that they’re going to realize they fell into by accident. And the entire commune already knows. You must know that Jeanie couldn’t keep her mouth shut with sutures and glue.”

“So you guys have... this whole time?” Darcy whimpered into the tissue paper sheets.

“Mm-hm.”

Steve and Clint burst into the study smelling of pine and the outdoors. Their hands covered their eyes and the both had silly grins. “Come see the tree we got,” Clint insisted and waved his hand for Darcy to take a hold.

“Go to it -- I’ll finish up here.”

Darcy went and looked at the tree, which was actually reasonably sized, and then followed the boys to the origin of cookie smells. Raphael and Nadja were baking and tending a pot of eggnog, ladling out aliquots of the thick, creamy drink. James sat at the bar overlooking the cookiestravaganza and seemed to have wheedled the job of cookie taster from the bakers. He was sweaty, filthy, and smelled like hard work and nutmeg.

Steve moved to stand close to James, leaning some of his weight into the seated man both as comfort and in a bid to get cookies. He ducked in and landed a quick kiss over James’ ear. Clint moved to hover by the vat of eggnog with a greedy expression, nudging Darcy towards Steve and James. She leaned into his other side and surreptitiously nuzzled into James’ shirt, enjoying his scent.

“What did they have you doing?” Darcy asked, picking out a twig that was stuck in his hair.

“It was actually pretty neat; they dig this big pit, see, and then set a huge fire and throw a bunch of big rocks on that to get really hot. Then when everything’s died down but still really hot they throw the goats on that, and _bury_ the whole thing and it cooks down underground. What’s it called?”

“A hangi,” Nadja supplied.

“Right. Tash is helping with the fire, but Herbie was givin’ me the eye, so I got shooed off.” James flexed his metal hand and grinned.

“You smell really good,” Darcy murmured into James’ ear. He perked almost imperceptibly. “Like... really, really good.”

“A+ seduction there, Darce,” Nadja said. Clint gave her a thumbs up.

“Fine then!” Darcy said, shrill and louder than intended. She squirmed in between James on his barstool and the bar edge, hooked her fingers under his shirt and peeled it off, wadded it up, and threw it in the corner. With an almost belligerent air she knelt and licked and kissed her way from his bellybutton to the hollow of his collarbones. 

Steve stepped back, obviously stunned. Clint whooped. Raphael clapped. Nadja said, “Seven point four. If you’d gone top to bottom you could have got his fly with your teeth.” James sat shirtless and debauched, but still filthy.

“You kids should go wash up,” Raphael suggested.  
\--  
James took every opportunity to get as much sweat and mud on Darcy as he could on their way to their room and the shower. She laughed and swatted at him and ran shrieking for the shower when he made to chase her. They ended up in the corner of the stall, Darcy still fully clothed, making out with giggling, breathless kisses. Darcy groaned as James worked his thigh between her legs, pressing towards her warm center and crowding her against the tile.

Her elbow bumped the cold water handle, showering them with a cold trickle of wetness. James stepped back quickly out of the spray. “Sorry to... throw some cold water on the situation,” Darcy said, completely deadpan as cold water continued to dribble out on top of her head. She managed to maintain a straight face for a good ten seconds before she burst out laughing, James joining her a beat later. He fiddled with the temperature controls and pulled her out of the spray to help with getting undressed.

They dropped their wet clothes in the sink and traded time under the warm spray, soaping up and rinsing down. “Did Herbie really come after you?” Darcy asked, eyes closed as she rinsed conditioner from her hair. 

“Yeah. You were right about that guy and the screwdriver,” he said on a laugh. James’ hands cupped her breasts, his mouth skating over one nipple and then the other. The feel of smooth hard metal and calloused palm was still unusual but no longer surprising, and his fingers were gentle as they skated over her wet flesh and pressed lightly into her skin. He licked and kissed down her stomach, kneeling in front of her.

“I like where you’re going there, Soldier,” Darcy said.

His hands traced down the creases in her thighs, his mouth following the trail of his fingertips. Genty he levered her leg out and hitched it over his shoulder, craning to lick her sex. Her fingers twisted in his wet hair as his mouth and hands went to work on her, coaxing whimpers and breathy squeaks of pleasure from her. Her cries of “oh god there,” and “yes, harder,” echoed against the slate of the bathroom surfaces. Water fell on both their heads like a warm baptism as Darcy came from his tongue.

“My life is like a porno in the best way,” Darcy said to herself when James helped her back to her own feet. James looked up at her, his cocky grin shining with water and her juices. She pulled him upright and wrapped her arms around his middle. “I am so glad you are here.” His arms went around her almost tentatively. 

He buried his nose in her wet hair. “Yeah?”

“Totally.”  
\--  
They spent the remainder of the day putting two full butchered goats in the dirt pit for roasting, along with a variety of whole vegetables and a few chickens for good measure, and decorating the place. Mr. Lewis spent a good portion of the afternoon crooning over the tree, unpacking ornaments with a delicate care and picking the perfect spot for each.

Around sundown Ida and some others began preparing for the feast they were to have just before those so inclined headed off to midnight mass. “I don’t think our Christmas ever involved so many fish,” Steve commented, staring into the tiny faces of a plate of battered and fried sprats. He managed to stay out of most of the fracas involved in meal preparation by strategic retreats and the use of hiding spots he had noted earlier in the day. Clint had discovered the treehouse addition high above the rest of the house, and was practicing his paper airplanes with some of Darcy’s nieces. Natasha was in the middle of things in the kitchen, stripped down to her underwear and an apron, wielding a chef’s knife with expert skill.

James shrugged. He hadn’t quite managed to piece his brain back together after the midmorning break with Darcy, and the sugar crash from consuming almost an entire tray of cookies by himself.

“Ida’s Italian. It’s the feast of the Seven Fishes,” Raphael said, sprawling in a lawn chair next to Steve. “It sounds like a scam, but it gets me off galley duty for a few hours, and I thought she was gonna cry the one time someone suggested we not do it that year.”

“Do you really have seven kinds of fish?” James asked.

“More like thirteen if you consider shrimp and calamari fish. Jeanie and Rhonda and I went into town to get fresh stuff this morning while you fellas were hauling and digging.” Raphael began naming fish while James tried to appear as though they meant anything to him. The conversation was broken up by a game of off-road croquette which broke out in the garden and ended up in the pool.  
\--  
“We thank the great creator, whoever he, she, or it may be, for this bountiful Christmas spread to celebrate our survival of the bitterness of midwinter in the forsaken climes—”

Someone elbowed Nadja, who was giving the prayer. “We’re so pleased to have new family joining us for Christmas Eve this year,” she nodded towards Darcy and her coterie, “and also to see so many old friends back for more. So lets dig in, and hope our dress pants fit afterwards.”

“Also the casserole has shellfish in it,” Ida added.

“And the casserole has shellfish in it,” Nadja agreed.

The feast spread from one end of the table to the other. A vat of cioppino large enough to wash a toddler in dominated the feast. Whole grilled snappers flanked the vat like watchmen, and from there reached a cornucopia of fishy things, from pies to tiny squid stuffed with even tinier sausages. Darcy dove in to the feast with gusto, and the others were quick to follow suit.

More people had appeared at some point. The conversation ebbed and flowed but never truly died as they made their way through seven or more fishes each. Steve was seated across from Uncle Herbie who he had discovered, was in no way blood relations with Darcy. He had largely given up his attempts to ambush and disassemble James’ arm, and was trying to explain how he really had only the best intentions.

“I still do some contract stuff with Stark Industries, right? And I am _sure_ that prosthetics like that could catch their interest if I brought them a viable schematic.” He misread Steve’s startled expression. “What -- didn’t think the greenie hippie could work for weapons manufacturers? Since the whole Iron Man thing—”

James joined the conversation. “Stark built me this one. Like, _Stark_.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

Herbie stared, tongue tucked between his teeth.

“We kind of... have contacts,” Steve hedged.

Herbie sat back in understanding then leaned across the table. “Right, with the _Captain America_ thing.” He said ‘Captain America’ in a stage whisper that was one of the least stealthy things Darcy had heard in a long time.

It was Steve’s turn to look gobsmacked. James grinned, incredulous and delighted, and slapped Steve on the shoulder. “You’re famous, buddy.” Darcy groaned.  
\--  
Steve, James, and surprisingly enough, Natasha went with the convoy to midnight mass. “I like the singing,” was all she said in reply to Darcy’s questioning look.

Darcy and Clint stayed by the pond, overly full while they played half-heartedly with gingerbread men.

“So is this like, how you grew up?” Clint asked at length. “I mean, I had no idea that your parents would be cool with the idea of you bringing home three boyfriends and a girlfriend -- that those parents even existed in the world.”

“The whole commune thing -- no. But my parents were always super accepting of anything people could come up with to do. And they were totally with Aunt Rhonda and Uncle Herbie and some of the others at various points when I was a kid. Rhonda introduced me to moon cups: lady hero.”

“By ‘with’ you mean...”

“Dating, yeah. All that stuff that we talked about when you and me first got together and then Nat was kinda in the middle?” Darcy ran her finger around the rim of her tea mug. “That was a lot of the stuff I’d heard my parents say, I realize now. How love isn’t a limited resource, and sharing it doesn’t thin it out.” She yawned. “I kinda went out and tried to be with just one normal boring person and that turned out so awfully that I figured I shouldn’t try anything more complicated, until...” She extended her hand towards Clint.

He took it and squeezed before he let his finger pads rest over her pulse. “I’m glad you tried for something more complicated.”

“I’m glad Tash mashed our faces together,” she said on a laugh that turned into a yawn. Clint chuckled along with her and gave her a reproachful look when the yawn became contagious. “I should get some beauty sleep. Come in whenever, okay?”

“I won’t be long,” Clint promised.

Darcy rose with a groan and leaned down for a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you, sweetcheeks,” Clint replied with a smirk.

The country air was quiet and still for how close they were to the shoreline. Clint breathed the air, imagining tension leaching out of him with each exhale. He only realized his eyes had closed when they startled open at the feel of someone dropping into the seat next to him. “Mrs. Lewis,” he greeted.

“Clint,” she returned. She had on a large coat and a floppy hat that made it clear from where Darcy got her knitwear fetish. “Hawkeye?” she asked after a moment.

“When I’m on the job,” Clint acknowledged. “That’s classified, though.”

“I read about you in Vanity Fair. And Time.”

“You get Vanity Fair out here?” Clint tried to deflect the seriousness of her tone with humor.

“And Time.” Silence spun between them. “You’re the only regular human on the Avengers.”

“Black Widow—”

“Isn’t just regular human so don’t even try to feed me that. I don’t care what kind of wacky Soviet training you have -- you do not recover from patellar dislocations like that without something amping you up. Or so Ida said.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care about that, though. She seems to deal with it like a champ.” Clint barely dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You know what a regular human can take -- you know the limits.” Clint frowned but nodded once more. “I know the others would keep her safe, but I have the feeling...” She fiddled with her sleeve in a nervous gesture so familiar Clint nearly reached out to still it. “Darcy doesn’t need someone to save her. She mostly just needs someone to say ‘enough’. To say that she’s done enough or that— I just worry in a bunch of super-people that she won’t feel special.”

“Well she is,” Clint said when the silence got to heavy. “She’d have to be to deal with all of us. It’s almost a superpower,” he added with a smirk. “Though seeing this group I’m beginning to understand how she didn’t get overwhelmed at the Tower.”

“A mother worries.”

“I’m not gonna say ‘no need’, because the world is a crazy shitshow, but we got her back. No matter what happens.”

“That’s what I needed to hear, Mr. Clint Hawkeye.”

“Barton. It’s Barton.”  
\--  
Christmas itself was not anticlimactic so much as nobody felt the need to be any more intense or hurried than at any other point that they had been in the compound. Steve went for an early morning run in spite of not getting to bed until after two. James and Natasha engaged in some foreplay but never got farther. Clint and Darcy got farther under their sleepy watch. Kids opened presents from under the tree while the adults exchanged gifts more privately. Breakfast lasted until they began the effort of digging up dinner, and the day ended with multi-ethnic caroling around the fireplace. 

James nudged Darcy. “Nadja showed Steve her artisanal glass art-piece dildos.”

“They’re not art pieces -- they’re for everyday use. She makes bongs too.”

Steve blushed high on his cheeks. “She insisted I keep one.”

“She gave me a butt-plug,” James added with a big smile, obviously antagonizing Steve.

“Well is it pretty? You don’t have to use it if you don’t like the shape.”

Darcy’s mother bid them all farewell the next day with kisses on the lips. Raphael and Nadja pressed cookies on them, and Otto gave them knitwear, elucidating the mystery of where everyone had gotten the exact same model of oversized hat. The trip back was almost sad as everyone decompressed from a lot of concentrated together time with strangers. Darcy could almost see Natasha’s sociable exterior peeling away to reveal the blank, nearly emotionless null-person which Natasha reverted to when she was truly exhausted.

“Did everyone have an ok time?” Darcy asked the quiet car.

Clint perked up. If he was a dog, his ears would have swiveled forward in interest. “They said we should come back next year.”  
\--  
“I invited Coulson over for dinner. Just so y’all know.” 

“What did we say about your use of ‘y’all’?”

Clint slanted a concerned look at Natasha but soldiered on. “I just thought it might be nice to have him over since we were gone for the holidays.”

“Aaw, you wanted your spy friend over for dinner. That’s cute.” Darcy trailed her finger down Clint’s chin and kissed him. 

Clint smiled, part pleased, part stupid-happy. “Someone gets me,” he replied with a pointed look at Natasha. “I just thought you all might like to know, in case you wanted to wear pants or make dinner or something.”

“Was that you asking Tash to make dinner?” James asked with a look of disbelief.  
\--  
Coulson entered the apartment with the ease of familiarity though he could not have been in it before. He toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and loosened and removed his tie, hanging it on the coat rack.

“Getting lax there, sir,” Clint greeted him.

Coulson shrugged one shoulder, fingers popping the first two buttons of his shirt. “You die and people cut you some slack on maintaining that professional look.” He spared a fond smile for Darcy, easing her pinched expression.

“Drink?” Clint asked.

“Please,” Coulson replied.

“Darcy; give him the tour,” Clint suggested. Natasha could barely be heard in the kitchen, directing James.

“Sure...” Darcy greeed. She guided Coulson through the living room, by the weapons locker to the door leading to Natasha’s master, and onto Clint’s.

Coulson smiled at the huge bed and glanced at Darcy.

“Where’s your space?” he asked.

“I have one of the economy units.” Coulson quirked an eyebrow. Darcy ducked her head.

“You don’t...” Coulson trailed off, glancing around the room again, going to stare academically at a display of arrowheads which someone else had gotten for Clint at some point. “You all seem rather permanent, is all,” Phil finished.

Darcy shrugged one shoulder, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “We are. It just... I don’t know.” Coulson was kind enough to take the obvious evidence of her discomfort, and drop the subject. He preceded her into the living room/dining room and admired some of Natasha’s art pieces in what Darcy assumed was a bid to made her feel less awkward about him _asking her about her relationship with three other men and a woman who were also superheroes and also kind of his employee/charges_.

They ate dinner sitting around the coffee tables instead of at the too-small dining room table, and it was almost comfortable. James had his crooked, dark charm on in full effect. Whatever awkwardness had existed between Coulson and Steve had been smoothed by the months of professional interaction and everyone’s bald, painful _relief_ when Coulson had turned up not-dead. Natasha was quiet, but in the way that said it was from being comfortable rather than being Black Widow. And Darcy didn’t say anything stupid. She took that as a win.

Coulson went home after bracing aperitifs and tiny cups of cigar-flavored tea leaving the apartment just a bit over-full and everyone just a bit more relaxed than normal.

Darcy sat on the rug, back braced against Clint’s shins. Natasha curled in Steve’s lap, in her chair, as though he was simply an overlarge cushion someone had left for her. Her eyes narrowed at Darcy, but she said nothing.

Darcy looked back, caught like a rabbit in the eyes of a large predator, the alcohol and good food opening paths behind her eyes which were normally shuttered.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at her, a silent imperative to speak. Darcy barely shook her head, not wanting to break the honey-thick moment of peace and warmth with something cutting and new.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you dames, but if someone doesn’t say something I’m gonna assume it’s—”

“I want us to live together,” Darcy blurted out, cutting across James’ words, and Natasha’s expression and Clint and Steve’s kind-of-inattentiveness. “I want to wake up next to someone I love every morning and I want to not have to put on pants to go to my own bedroom,” she added. James stared with his mouth open. Steve frowned thoughtfully. Natasha gave her a look which she was certain was approving. Clint’s shins pressed reassuringly into her back. “I don’t want to be like, clingy, but I know for a fact Stark offered you your own floor _each_ and like... maybe we could do that so I don’t feel left out in the student quarters or something.”

James actually shifted uncomfortably next to Clint -- Darcy could feel the shift of bodies through Clint’s shins. “About that...” James began, trailing off at Steve’s hurt look.

“You don’t want to—”

“No, it’s not—”

“Because I wouldn’t want you to—”

“Really, it’s just—”

Natasha hissed, silencing both Steve and James as though they were naughty animals. Her hand tightened on Steve while she gave a look to James that clearly invited him to continue.

“I’d like a space of my own,” James said at last. “Not, like, apart from everyone else, just... a place that isn’t yours,” he said looking at Steve, “or already your guys’,” he added, glancing between Natasha and Clint. “A place that’s just mine.”

The announcements left a cleared swath of silence in their wake.

“Provided I don’t have to do the moving, that sounds fine,” Natasha said.

“Yeah,” Clint added.

“Stark is always saying how we can redecorate if we want -- that he’d be happy to help, even,” Steve added. “I’m sure this would get him to pipe down about that for a while.”  
\--  
Darcy hadn’t realized how much the change in living arrangement would alter how she thought of her boyfriends and Natasha. The simple fact of having a space nestled amongst a communal space that was hers made her feel secure and cocky, as though she was certain of her place in the world. James seemed to improve as well, becoming on the one hand more withdrawn and prone to spending time alone in his (new) room, but on the other hand, completely engaged in their lives when he did not have his door shut. It was as though the tacit permission to have secrets had invited him to share more -- a state of affairs which Steve reveled in, and Natasha quietly approved.

“I like this,” Darcy said, mostly to herself one morning over her Shreddies.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “This is good.” They shared a look over the cereal box that seemed to last for minutes, but actually took a mere instant. “You did good with us.”

“Ya think?”

“I know.”

James swept in from behind to kiss Darcy’s ear, and it was weird, and sometimes so crowded with bizarre personal issues that it felt like group therapy, but it was her crazy family, and she had made it. Darcy smiled to herself. “I done good.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, questions, comments, thoughts, and concrit are appreciated. I hope you enjoyed reading!


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